


A Lonely Spell to Conjure You

by flewbetween



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Complete, Drinking, F/M, First Time, Hogwarts Era, One Shot, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:16:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flewbetween/pseuds/flewbetween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer before sixth year and everything is changing. There's talk of a war coming, and they're all going to get caught in it, but for now Pansy Parkinson just wants to be wanted; Theodore Nott is just there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lonely Spell to Conjure You

_Pansy._

The bar wasn't a bar as much as it was an antique coffee table covered with half empty bottles. Pansy Parkinson stumbled her way towards it through lethargic, alcohol soaked bodies.

 _Not drunk enough_.

Draco was supposed to come, but she'd sat in front of the Floo for hours, it felt like; not drinking, not dancing, just waiting. Each time the flame popped and hissed with a new arrival her heart leapt to her throat, but she was forced to swallow it when someone who was decidedly not Draco came tumbling out of the ash. Draco had never shown up, and now she was making up for lost time.

She could still walk, it was just that she didn't _want_ to, but _oh fuck_ , there were still people getting drinks and she didn't want to look like a mess in front of everyone. She didn't want them to know that her absent boyfriend (was he still?) had turned her into this weepy drunk thing. She stood up straight, stretching her height, which wasn't considerable, as far as it would go. She blinked to clear the dried tears from her lashes; she combed her hair back with her fingers.

She still looked like a weepy drunk thing.

 

_Theo._

 

This was supposed to be fun? It was no different to any other party he'd ever attended. It stank of stale cigarette smoke, the beer tasted like rancid lake water and no one was speaking to him. How was this supposed to take his mind off anything, as Blaise had promised? This was not his idea of escapism.

_You're just not drunk enough._

He'd never drunk himself into a stupor before, but his father had just been arrested for attacking a few of his classmates, what better excuse was he going to find? Imprisoned father, dead mother; who was going to punish him for it? The bottles lined up on the table looked like an absurd city skyline. Something clear? Something golden? He wasn't worried about the taste. He knew his taste buds would go numb after a while and he wouldn't taste it anyway. Perhaps his whole body would go numb? He'd be like the rest of them, waking up in his own, or _someone else's_ vomit.

"Drinking always makes me horny."

Oh god, it was -

"Parkinson."

 

 _Pansy_.

 

She liked that scared animal look he got on his face whenever she was anywhere _near_ him. What the fuck was he even _doing_ here? He looked so out of place in his nice trousers and shined up shoes. Did he think it was the first day of school or something? His shirt even had buttons and a collar, and more astonishingly, he was still fully-clothed while everyone else was dancing and shedding layers. He was white as a sheet except the dark mess of a thing he called his hair. He was holding a bottle of liquor as though it might go off in his hand.

It was _hilarious_ , and for fuck's sake, she needed a laugh.

"Theo."

"Where's your boyfriend?"

"Not here."

"Too bad."

 

 _Theo_.

 

She looked a mess, a gorgeous, perfect mess. Shiny clear lipgloss was smeared just below the line of her mouth and black kohl liner was smeared beneath her brilliant blue eyes, but the way she carried herself despite the mess was Pansy Parkinson's best feature. The girl exuded confidence and Theo, he was a wallflower, not one to mingle, not one for other people at all. What was she doing talking to him? They rarely spoke at school.

He wouldn't ask, nor would he complain, because the world had turned upside down, and maybe this was just a part of it. The corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Yes, it is."

 

~*~

 

 _That was the first time_.

~*~

Pansy grabbed his wrist, the bottle of firewhisky still dangling in his hand, and they sat on a sofa across the room. She held the bottle and tipped it down his throat because he needed to lighten up, but he couldn't swallow it fast enough and they both laughed as his perfect, crisp white shirt was stained. He still looked nervous to be that close to her, so she threw her legs over his and scooted onto his lap. She was drunker and drunker now, and no one had ever told her that Theodore Nott smelled really good, like he scrubbed for hours everyday, and she couldn't inhale enough of him. Colour rose up his neck, patches of red spreading across him like a fever on his skin. She held onto his collar as they talked about things that didn't matter; the music, their friends, what time it was. Words slurred until they stopped coming altogether and Theo's hands hovered nervously like they weren't sure where to land. Finally, cautiously, he touched her with some kind of purpose.

His hand on her back ignited her and she rocked a little in his lap. He was out of breath.

There were empty rooms all over Blaise's house, but neither of them could handle the twisting, ornate staircases, so Pansy stumbled and grabbed Theo's hand. She pulled him from the sofa and they hurried, only purpose keeping them upright, through the smoke in the sitting room, and then they were outside in the garden. She fell next to a bush that glittered with charmed fairies, and pulled him down, too, when he so gallantly tried to help her up. He hadn't done this before, and it was more work because he needed positioning and was useless with her clothes. She slid out of her knickers and untied the string behind her neck that held up her top, and she was ready to go.

 

_Theo._

 

She wore a silver snake charm on silver chain around her neck. It was nestled between her breasts and Theo focused there so he could concentrate through the fog of firewhisky. He knew there was something he should be doing because she was staring up at him with eager blue eyes. She shifted beneath him and suddenly he was trapped between her legs. She wrapped them around his middle and pulled him down as she pressed herself up. A jolt of feeling ran through his body. His hips pressed back in an automatic motion; his breath came harder, faster.

He remembered what he should be doing, but she rocked her hips against him again, and then she whispered a reminder anyway.

"Fuck me."

 

 _Pansy_.

 

Maybe she was too drunk to know the difference, but he kissed her like a dream. The smell of him, the smell of grass, the smell of alcohol; it all assaulted her as he leaned down and their mouths met. She hadn't expected it. She'd said, "Fuck me," and he'd kissed her instead. It was tentative, like his touches, like the light feeling of his fingers on her breasts. He cupped her face with his soft, warm hand. He looked into her eyes. He whispered to her.

"I always thought you were beautiful."

 

 _Theo_.

 

If he had been sober he would have stopped. He would have remembered that Pansy Parkinson was the most intimidating girl he'd ever met, that she wasn't _his type_ at all, except that she was attractive to anyone with a pair of eyes. Her body was textbook. It was curvy and milky white; the perfect contrast to the bright blue of her eyes, the cherry red of her lips, the silky black cascade of her hair.

And now it was beneath him, trembling under his touch. Her skin was soft and flushed and hot. His hands explored as he kissed her. She had the softest lips, the hottest tongue, the sharpest teeth. He felt, with a thrill, the moan in her throat that a kiss there elicited. Everywhere his hand settled it seemed to fit; the delicious curve of her hip, the rise of her breasts, the flushed skin of her cheek. Those blue eyes enchanted him and the alcohol loosened his tongue, loosened his whole body, loosened the waist of his trousers.

 

_Pansy._

 

She moaned at the heat of him inside her. She clutched his arms and arched her body into his because at some point during his exploration her need to be fucked, _wanted_ by someone, turned into her needing to be fucked by Theo, into her wanting him. She called out with each thrust, encouraging him because he was inexperienced, she could tell, but there was something about him.

There was something about the way he kissed her while he fucked her, the way he bit her bottom lip and a moan ripped from his throat. He listened to her when she said faster, slower, faster and _oh god_ , that hadn't taken much at all and her body was convulsing beneath his. He gasped when she came and looked surprised that it was happening, but it was enough to coax more of those noises from his throat, to make his body sweat. There was something electric and raw about the way he shook as he came.

 

 _Theo_.

 

This wasn't how he'd imagined his virginity being lost. If he had wanted to join Pansy's list of boys she'd fucked at parties drunk off her face he would have tacked his name on sooner. He'd been determined to chase meaning in his first encounter, but it wasn't with regret that he reached between them and slid himself inside her. Her. This feeling, it was _her_. Pansy Parkinson, suddenly vulnerable to him, vulnerable with him. He couldn't believe the sounds he drew from her - the sounds of need and want and _yes_.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck me," a moan and a whisper. "Theo, Theo, _Theo_."

Her back arched and her lips parted and he had to kiss her, had to feel her whole body against his. They agreed, faster, faster, faster, and the shock of it when she came, the way her body tightened around his, drove him to a crashing urgency, a rush, a release.

_"Pansy."_

 

 _Pansy_.

 

The moment she'd whispered in his ear when they were on the sofa and she inhaled the crisp scent of his clothes she began to falling for him. For now she blamed it on the drink - _but the boy had called her beautiful and meant it_ \- and she vowed to black out and forget it all, but she knew as she stared up at him on top of her, shaken and shagged, that she was fully present. She did not feel drunk as she reached up and stroked his hair from his face, as her hands touched his skin, as she whispered.

"Theo?"

 

 _Theo_.

 

It could have been the sex or the alcohol, but his name seemed transformed in her mouth. The girl who spoke it was transformed, too, as her body relaxed beneath him. She wasn't the harsh, hard Pansy Parkinson that strutted through Hogwarts and shrieked and squealed and threw things. There was a softness in her eyes as she touched him, and the light touch of her fingers over his cheek, his mouth, calmed his his racing heart.

"Mm?" he murmured.

"Okay?"

"Perfect."

She pulled him down by the front of his shirt and kissed him, a soft press of her full lips against his, and then she pushed him onto his back.

 

_Pansy._

 

They were well-hidden by the over-sized Zabini hedges, so she curled her half-naked body against his and they both rested, hormones and liquor bringing them happiness as his fingers played idly in her hair. Muted music and laughter drifted from the house and Pansy wondered if Draco had ever turned up, then she decided that she didn't care.

Tomorrow, perhaps, she would remember she had a boyfriend and that there was a war on, but as she lay in the soft grass with her cheek pressed to Theo's chest she could only think of that one word uttered from his hoarse throat, slipping through swollen, chapped lips.

 _Perfect_.


End file.
